Vile Wasteland (A Post Apocalyptic Novel) (16 page)

She was some distance away, but no sound carried to her. With the
silence of the valley it was eerily quiet. If the Vile had screamed
she’d have been able to hear it, wouldn’t she? It was
hard to say from so far away.

Her heart practically stopped. The more practical concerns for her
safety tried to edge into her mind, but she was already moving.
Dropping the binoculars around her neck, her ponytail hidden behind
her green hat, she clutched onto her rifle. It wasn’t the
normal way, however. She was holding it like a club and looked ready
to use it.

Charging straight on at the building, she arrived nearly in time
as another Vile emerged. She had him, with the speed and tenacity of
her run she’d be upon him in a second before he had a chance to
do a thing. It was all happening so perfectly then just before she
could get there, it all went so wrong.

Two Viles, or at least two–she didn’t know for
sure–came out from the buildings on either side of her. With
the speed she was barrelling at and how quickly they caught her, it
was hopeless. She toppled to the ground and all was black.

Hours later–was it hours?–she awoke. Her head pounded.
No, not her head. It sounded like drums. It was. It was musical,
though menacing and almost maniacal, but it was drums. Clear and
loud, they boomed in the night air.

Opening her eyes her vision came to, and she could see it was
night, and little else. She was in some enclosed space, probably one
of the round homes of the smaller variety. The only light was what
seeped around the edges of the curtain blocking the entry way,
tattered and old as it was.

Before she had a chance to move, however, it was yanked aside. The
dark silhouette of a Vile blocked her view, but she could see the
light outside was from a series of torches that lined the roadway
outside. Lunging for her it grabbed her long blonde hair and yanked
her, forcing her to her feet.

Any struggle was useless, she found herself helplessly shackled.
Even standing at the painful yank of her hair was a trial. More than
that, she discovered she was naked as she was dragged out into the
cool night air, helpless and unarmed.

"Fuck off," she bit out angrily, trying to slap herself
free despite the futility of it.

The Vile, unsurprisingly, responded only with an anguished scream
as he pulled her along the main roadway. It was red. Painted like the
terrifying drawings on the buildings which were illuminated by
torchlight. And upon closer inspection now that she was in the city,
she could see all those scraps of crimson fabric had the same designs
upon them, marked in some gold hue, as if the Viles had their own
flag.

Pulling her along, he took her up the main roadway towards a large
central building. This seemed to be at the heart of the old colony
itself. Perhaps some important bureaucratic facility of old New
Atlantia, now looking like a hideous fortress, adorned with sharp
jagged spikes of metal and wood all along the outer edges.

Even though her body prickled with pain, she still spat out, "Yea,
that’s fascinating," in an anguished tone, feeling his
hand tugging her along. She didn’t even feel any shame at the
nudity, though there was a stockpile of fear resting right underneath
the anger.

Passing by some of the other buildings she had time to analyze her
surroundings. It was mostly the same thing, those hideous freaks and
the white of the old buildings smeared with red. Though she saw
something that stuck out of it all; a procession of nude men and
women, looking not at all like the Viles. They very calmly walked
through the street as if oblivious to their nudity and the horror of
their surroundings.

Even as a couple of the Viles came up and grabbed one of the women
by the hair, yanking her out of the procession and forcing her down
to her knees, none of them reacted. The victim didn’t even
scream as the disgusting former-human forced his hard cock upon her,
rutting her in the street like an animal. Instead, the woman took it
upon hands and knees with such placidity, her face contorting, but
only barely, as she was fucked before all.

Passives. It came back to her. The other side of the coin. When
some turned to Viles, others became the shells of humans known as
Passives. Amenable to anything asked, obedient to a fault.

Well she certainly wasn’t passive. Even in her quieter study
of her surroundings, she was anything but passive. Every step that
the Vile made her take was hard won, though it was barely a battle.
Not as she was, naked and exposed, stripped of her weapons. She was
trying to calculate her next move, yet found it almost impossible to
think through the blinding pain and anger.

She could see a few others of the raging monsters outside the main
building that seemed to be her destination, though they only looked
at her and cried their outrage in wordless menace, allowing her and
her captor to push on through unmolested. Upon entering the great
dome-like structure she was struck by the strangeness of it.

Like outside, the line of torches continued up the main walkway.
The chamber was mostly empty, except at its center. There, amidst a
great ring of red flags, sharp pikes and the grotesque collection of
human skulls, sat some great monstrous throne.

It was illuminated, though not only by torchlight. Above she could
see a great circular opening that must have once been a window to the
stars, though now only jagged shards remained. Instead, moonlight
poured down upon the sight before her. A collection of chained
people, nude as she was, whimpering or unconscious around the
over-sized throne.

Last of all was the freakish man who sat amidst that grotesque
display. Massive, the man was even bigger than Grent. Bulging muscles
all over, he was ripped, probably outdoing even Bren from the
caravan. Unlike the other two men though, he was hairless. His head
bald, freakish tattoos all over him.

She couldn’t help but notice one thing in particular about
him before being dumped before the raised platform: he wasn’t
that sickly, inhuman pale colour the rest of the Viles were.

For some reason her mind skipped past the muscled men in her past
and went right to a more suitable comparison in her mind. The doctor.
Her eyes narrowed at the man, defiant even in spite of the odds
against her, "What, so you lead these assholes I guess?"

The Vile that dragged her in punched her in the back of the head,
her vision blanked out and the world went fuzzy. She could swear for
a moment she heard a familiar voice, as if Marim were calling to her
from the past. When things cleared, the large man was out of his
throne and halfway down the stairway, but a dozen meters from her.

He wore little, nothing but two bands around his wrists and a torn
and tattered garment that dangled from his waist that did little to
cover him. The frail captives at his throne were cowering as the
imposing man loomed near enough for her to see the freakish lines of
intimidating tattoos that formed bizarre almost lightning-like
markings, leading from his arms across his shoulders down his torso.

"Ow," she groaned, glaring up at the Vile that hit her.
Fuck, she figured of all people they’d appreciate some
aggression. Still, her eyes quickly went back to the more imposing
man. She didn’t know enough yet to cower; she wasn’t yet
beaten or undone, and she straightened herself to the best of her
abilities, though the dizziness was an issue.

"Can you tell this guy to fuck off, sir?" she stared the
leader in the eyes.

The Vile was already leaving, her moment of lapsed awareness
causing her to already miss out on its dismissal. Standing there in
quiet as the raging beast left, something occurred to her: the people
at the throne were chained, similar to her. The Passives outside
didn’t need that kind of restraint. She’d seen ample
proof of that for herself when one savagely took a Passive, never
even managing to wipe the placid look of contentment from her.

The well-tanned man approached her further, and she could feel the
tremor of his steps through the hard floor.

Fuck, she was not going to be this guy’s concubine. Her eyes
were hard, but she could feel the fear winning out against anger as
she realized just how large he was, and her throat suddenly felt very
dry. Licking over her lips, she almost went to take a step back
before forcing herself to remain still.

When he was nearly upon her she could smell the man strongly. It
was the musk of raw masculinity, sex and blood. His smooth body
showed no signs of hair, and despite his own near nudity he had a
sheen of perspiration that left his bulging pecs, abs and biceps
gleaming in the heat of the torchlight.

Towering over her, she saw his face. Rather, she saw through the
freakish tattoos to the face beneath. It was impossible to tell his
age, but though scarred, he bore a powerful jaw and a handsome face
beneath his stern expression. More than that, he looked somehow
familiar.

Her reverie was shaken when he spoke, a deep voice that boomed out
but was strangely refined, "You’re new to the world,"
he stated rather than asked. Though the silence suggested he expected
some response.

"Not... really," she said, her rage subsiding for just a
second before resurfacing. "Would hate to intrude on your party
though. Just... let me go and I’ll just..." even to her it
sounded unconvincing and she quickly shut herself up.

When he reached out a hand and smoothly took hold over her jaw,
she had to marvel at the size of that mitt. It dwarfed even Grent’s
giant paw. "What’s your name?" he asked in that
smooth, yet loud, voice of his.

One of her eyes squinted in suspicion, "Alex." She
quavered with a mixture of fear and confusion, and her gaze darted
back to his slaves.

The large man blocked her view of most of them, and she could only
make out one cowering woman who seemed happy for the distraction.

"What’s your full name?" he insisted in that same
steady, loud tone. Curiously, the man’s hands, though so large,
and obviously so strong, didn’t hold the same hard calluses’
of Grent’s. His digits were tough, but undoubtedly smooth to
the touch as he slowly turned her head, as if eying a sculpture
rather than a person’s face.

She groaned just a bit, though didn’t resist his strange
touch. "Alexandra Wright," she sighed. She was trying not
to talk too much, tremors of fear rushing up and down her spine, and
she could smell him so close to her. She was afraid at any moment
something terrible would happen. Was happening.

The response wasn't one she had expected. A curious expression
passed over the massive man’s face, a sort of knowing look. She
recognized that look from other men; he knew something she didn’t.
"From Bunker Omega," he intoned in a quiet, low voice.

Her face screwed up, "What, so you’ve been taking all
my friends? Fuck man, people are dyin’ ‘cause they–"
she stopped herself, physically biting down on her lower lip. Her
face burned hot beneath her pale skin and her dark eyes moved away.
"Yes, yea, that’s me."

The large man gave a low, hearty chuckle though never released her
jaw. "Come with me," he said at last turning and indicating
towards a side passage. "I have more interesting things to share
with you than await those here," he said, implying the captives
around his throne as he began to lead her away.

"Fantastic," she muttered under her breath. Upgraded
from throne concubine to something new and reserved for a select few.
The fear made her skin crawl and her gallows humour erupt into
several snide, sarcastic, and thankfully unspoken comments.

Pushing through the curtain that separated the entrance, he took
her up a long spiral staircase. Oval shaped windows showed her the
valley outside as they climbed higher.

Seeing the trouble she had, he stopped and bent down. She couldn’t
make out what exactly he did, but with a snap the metal restraints
came away and he asked, "Better?" before continuing on up.

"Yea, surprisingly it’s easier to walk when you’re
not physically restrained," she sighed, the words barely even
audible before she spoke up, "Yea, thanks!" It was forced,
but still she followed, looking around. "So you seen my buddy
Grent?"

The unknown man furrowed his brow and looked down at her, "Grent?"
Leading her up and up he took her at last to a doorway that opened to
a large balcony with a spacious sofa, a table and some chairs.
"Describe for me this Grent, and how I would know him," he
said.

"I was coming to gallantly save his life when some asshole
clocked me out. Big guy. Blondish red hair," she looked over the
room, then back to the other man. Somehow being several levels above
the exit was more comforting to her than being treated like one of
the other captured humans, though not by much.

The look he gave her before gesturing her to the couch said it
all: he didn’t know who she was talking about. If Grent were
captured or killed, the Viles hadn’t informed him. Assuming
they could inform him, of course.

"I will check into that later," he said in that same
cultured voice that so did not befit the looks of the fearsome man.
"How long have you been out?" he asked.

She just stared at him, her eyes narrowing a bit, "Uh... I
was hoping you’d be able to tell me. Long enough to be stripped
and chained. How long’s it take one of them to do that?"

With another one of his booming chuckles he rested a hand upon her
shoulder, pressing down upon her and making sit upon the couch. "I
meant, out of the bunker," he said with a toothy smile.

She made a small sound of annoyed protest, finding the act of
sitting bare against the couch to be unpleasant and she gave it a
sceptical look over. "Guess it’s useless to ask if it’s
clean."

Returning her eyes to him, she took in a deep breath and gave a
bright smile that did not match the situation, "I came out a
couple days ago to save my bunker from death. Then one of your little
minions stole my trade goods. I would like it back, please."